


Aide

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 00:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis and Gladiolus get Noctis ready for an early meeting.





	Aide

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “When Noctis have a very early meeting Ignis and Gladio have to make sure that he is ready for it, and since Noct is not really up 100% they decide that it really isn't a good idea to trust him with a blade close to his face. So they shave him themselves, with Gladio holding Noct steady and Ignis shaving him” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4398.html?thread=7833902#cmt7833902).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There’s no real reason the crown shouldn’t be able to conduct its business at eight o’clock in the morning—in fact, most members of the council prefer to have their meetings early, leaving plenty of time to accomplish other things throughout the rest of their busy day. The only trouble comes when Noctis is expected to attend such meetings, because he’s rarely properly awake before the clock’s struck noon.

Somehow, Ignis manages to rouse him around seven thirty. Any earlier would be simply impossible. He ushers Noctis towards the washroom, and when Noctis protests, Ignis explains that he has two options: walk there himself, or have Gladiolus cart him in. Noctis tries to glare, but his sleep-addled face can’t seem to quite manage any malice, and the look he gives winds up more adorable than anything. Ignis stifles that reaction and keeps him going.

The washroom door remains open while Noctis is busy in the walk-in shower, closed off behind an opaque sheet of speckled glass. It allows Ignis to come and go from the large en-suite bathing room, where he lays outt each article of Noctis’ formal clothes, freshly pressed and steamed. By the time Noctis is pulling them over the door of the shower, exchanging them for his sodden towel that Ignis wordlessly puts away, Ignis only has the jacket left to iron. He brings it in when he’s finished and finds Noctis by the sink, done up in the rest and lazily scrubbing at his teeth. His hazy eyes are lost somewhere in the fogged-up mirror. Ignis notes with a none-too-small sigh of resignation that he’s somehow managed to do up his shirt’s buttons wrong. 

Ignis helps Noctis into the jacket first, then tugs Noctis from the mirror and sets to undoing each button in turn. The fact that a full-grown man could utterly misalign something so simple as a dress shirt’s buttons isn’t comforting. It confirms what Ignis already knew—Noctis shouldn’t be expected to absorb any information, and certainly not _provide_ it, first thing in the morning. 

But the king’s given his command. So Ignis finishes his task: making Noctis look a proper prince, and Noctis brushes past him to spit into the sink. He washes his mouth out with the glass of water Ignis provided him, and when he straightens, Ignis lifts a hand to gingerly trace his chin.

It’s littered with the faint beginnings of dark stubble. Noctis hasn’t yet reached a point in life where beards come thick nor easy to him, and in the meantime, the stubble only looks messy on his otherwise smooth face. Without being asked, Noctis grunts, “I’ll deal with it.”

Ignis nods. Noctis reaches for the drawer beneath the sink, withdrawing a tube of shaving cream and a razor, only to pause and let out a rather sizeable yawn.

He lifts the razor without applying any cream, and Ignis instantly places a hand over his wrist, lowering it and making an executive decision. “I think, perhaps, you had better let me take care of that.” Noctis wrinkles his nose, giving Ignis a grumpy look, but it’s obvious that he’s not yet awake enough to handle a blade so close to his face. Ignis turns towards the ajar door to call, “Gladio! I require your assistance.”

Noctis mutters, “Are you serious?” while Gladiolus peeks in, already handsomely done up in his crownsguard uniform. 

Ignis gestures towards Noctis’ equally attractive face and explains, “I think we had best shave him. Would you mind holding him steady?”

Gladiolus just barely manages to stifle a mocking smirk, and Noctis visibly bristles, but fortunately, Ignis doesn’t have to deal with either immature outbreak. Gladiolus moves towards the toilet, sitting crisply down before reaching out for Noctis, and he tugs Noctis lightly back, down into his heavy lap. Noctis begrudgingly lets himself be pulled against Gladiolus’ massive chest, where he’s braced by two strong arms around his middle. It does look somewhat silly, even childish, but it reassures Ignis to know that Noctis won’t nod off on him. Or at least, if Noctis does, Gladiolus will stop him from crashing to the tiled floor. 

Noctis, at least, helpfully tilts his face into Ignis’ touch as Ignis rubs the cream-filled brush across his face. Noctis’ eyes do fall closed for suspiciously long more than once, but each time, he manages to snap back. The first time that his head actually lolls against his chest, just before Ignis has brought the razor to him, Gladiolus reaches a hand across his jaw and gingerly holds him in position. Noctis’ clouded eyes peer open again, up at Ignis as he sets to work.

Even with the added support of Gladiolus’ meaty grip, Ignis is incredibly careful. He pays his prince more mind than he ever has himself, and he drags the razor across Noctis’ skin at a snail’s pace, ready to withdraw at a split-second’s notice. His focus and precision pays off; he rarely has to trace an area more than once, and on the few times he does, he uses his long fingers to spread the cream over it again before he returns the blade. He would never forgive himself if he cut Noctis, even only lightly, shallowly. When he’s finished, he has an internal moment of pleased relief.

Then he douses the nearby cloth with warm water and tenderly washes Noctis clean. Noctis leans subtly into his touch, eyes drifting off again, and Gladiolus doesn’t hold him quite so fiercely. When even that is finished, Ignis slips his fingers beneath Noctis’ chin and gently inspects his work. Noctis finally asks, “Well?”

“Beautiful,” Ignis surmises, “as always.” 

A tiny smirk twitches at Noctis’ lips, while Gladiolus snorts, “Thanks to us.” Noctis squirms out of his lap, then turns to make a face at him. Ignis does a final check of Noctis’ entire body, and finds him perfectly fit, right down to his socks. His shoes are waiting by the door, already polished. 

With a quick look of quiet gratitude in his deep eyes, Noctis brushes past them. Ignis and Gladiolus fall into step behind him, always there to serve.


End file.
